


Wonderful Wheezes

by dothechachaslide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Depression, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Frankly Grotesque amount of flirting, Gay Draco Malfoy, George is dead in this one, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Slow Burn, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, ministry of magic hack Draco malfoy, shopkeeper Harry Potter, sorry - Freeform, unusual careers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 16:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30142389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothechachaslide/pseuds/dothechachaslide
Summary: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is in trouble.After Fred's death, George was never the same. Less than a year later, he's dead too, and the rest of the Weasley's might as well have forgotten about the shop. With no new product ideas and no one to turn to, the situation seems helpless to Harry. But he has to save the shop, because he can't let this last little piece of the twins die too.Now all he needs is to get Draco Malfoy to give the shop a good rating so the Ministry won't shut it down. But how the hell is he supposed to do that?
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Jealousy, Lee Jordan/Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is no direct mention of how George died because I wanted to keep this fic as lighthearted and accessible as possible. Infer what you want, maybe it was a nasty case of Dragon Pox. The characters are still actively grieving, but that should be the only necessary content warning.

It was like they all realised it at once, when George died, how close to the end they'd been themselves. How much they'd stopped really caring about life. 

Ron and Ginny took up residence at Grimmauld Place, huddling together when it all got to be too much. The burrow was a mess, they'd said, and Harry hadn't thought twice about offering. With both twins gone, Mrs Weasley was torn to shreds, barely holding it together. As much as Ron and Ginny needed to be away from that, though, he knew they were really there because they worried about him too. 

They'd developed a routine of sorts, the three of them, over the past few months. Harry would wake up from nightmares sometime around 4 am, start the training exercises that Robards had assigned to him so he could register as an Auror in the Spring, talk to Hermione in Australia while it was still early enough for her to be awake, and then make breakfast for Ron and Ginny. It was simple, easy. Which is why, when Ron read Harry the letter he'd gotten from the Ministry, his heart plummeted to the cellar, stopping to keep Kreacher company for a while as he did whatever the fuck he did down there. 

He said he sorted vegetables, but for all Harry knew, he was finger-painting images of Walburga in the nude. 

"They say what?" Harry demanded. 

"We regret to inform you that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has missed its latest mortgage payment," Ron repeated blandly. "You have until October 1st, 1999, to complete the payment, or the property will be forfeited—"

"I'll shove the payment up their fucking arses!"

"—to Gringotts Wizarding Bank automatically. Furthermore, in order to ensure proper economic success for the whole of Diagon Alley, unless the owners of the property can prove that the shop is still profitable by December 31st, 1999, it will be foreclosed. The Ministry is happy—"

"Oh, happy, are they? I'll bet, yeah. The absolute fucking wankers."

"—to send an inspector around to monitor the shop's proceedings and send back reports on the patronage, net income, and potential for growth. If this letter has been received by mistake, please contact..."

"Of course it's a bloody mistake!"

"We haven't kept up with the payments," Ginny murmured, sitting at the other end of the kitchen table and staring determinedly at her tea. "Most of the money they made went to their... funerals. And some of it went to the War Orphans Trust Fund. Anyway, there's not much left now, and I don't think we even remembered."

"Well, I'll pay it," Harry said. He didn't mind. How could he? He'd helped start the shop, after all, so there was no reason he couldn't keep it going. 

"What would be the point?" 

Ron's face was blank and his words, though cutting, came out like he was commenting on nothing more interesting than the weather. 

"It was Fred and George's shop..." Harry tried, having the strangest feeling that if he made one wrong move everything around him would explode. 

"I fucking know that. Do you see them here?"

"We could still keep it running." 

That's what they'd been doing so far, and there was no reason it shouldn't work. Verity was experienced enough with the day-to-day proceedings that she didn't need his help, and patronage had ground to a halt after the Prophet article announcing that George was gone. 

"You think you could invent new products?" Ron asked. "Advertise? Convince wizarding children that they simply must have a telescope that punches you in the eye? I can't think of a single person who could do that besides them, Harry, and certainly not you." 

"We— we can't just give up," he insisted, looking hopelessly between Ron and Ginny, the confidence draining out of him. 

Ginny stood, pulling Harry into a tight hug and then stepping away before she spoke. "I think it might be best for all of us to let go. We can't keep it going without them. It'd be a money pit, and the Ministry knows it."

"I'd be happy to—"

"I know you would. But maybe just," she looked back at Ron, biting her lip, "don't." 

His chest actually clenched, begging him to do something. Ginny wouldn't meet his eyes, and he knew she was probably struggling to hold on. 

She never cried in front of them. He didn't know why, or what she was trying to prove, but she didn't. She would lock herself up in her room and turn the music up full blast, only coming out hours later when she could pretend nothing was wrong again. 

Harry went to bed that night with that face still fresh in his mind, tossing and turning. Ginny's brown eyes welling with tears. It was better than Ron, at least, because most of the time his just looked dull, like there was nothing going on at all. 

This couldn't happen. The shop was Fred and George's favourite thing in the world. It was their creation, their lives' work. 

And sure, it had been on the decline even if you considered the effects of the war, but that was to be expected. George's heart hadn't really been in it anymore. No one's had. 

Harry had to come up with something. He had to save it. His mind kept going to the last time he'd seen Mrs Weasley, a little less than a week before. 

He'd never in his life seen someone look so devastated. Mr Weasley wasn't doing well either, but he was strong for her, and for all of his children. 

Harry couldn't let this get taken from them too. It felt like there was too much happening all at once.

Hermione. He'd talk to Hermione. Surely she'd have an idea. She always did. 

With that in mind he drifted off, and after maybe an hour or two of unfulfilling sleep, he rolled out of bed and went to the sitting room to call her. 

She answered immediately, flames jumping higher and her frazzled expression coming clearly into view. The bushy brown hair flying around her head only made her look even more panicky. "What's wrong? Is Ron okay?" 

"He's—" Harry realised that he probably scared her. When he'd called to tell her the news about George, because no one else had the strength to do it, it'd been a bit like this too. "He's fine, Mione. I'm sorry, I know I usually call later, but I was too keyed up. 

She relaxed noticeably, and Harry did too. Usually, they started with the other stuff and Hermione would accidentally-on-purpose mention Ron later and pretend she didn't care how he was doing. Their breakup had been messy, and Harry still didn't really know why it'd happened. 

He knew how hard it was for her to be away from them when all of this was going on, and she'd come back briefly for the funeral, but she had to be there with her parents.

"Why are you calling, then?" she asked. "Are the nightmares..." 

Well they were. But that wasn't why he'd called. 

He took a deep breath. "The Ministry wants to close Wheezes."

"They want to what?!"

There! See, that was the outrage he was looking for! If only she wasn't a couple of portkeys away, he'd grab her up and spin her around in a circle. 

"Exactly! And Ron and Ginny are convinced we should just let it happen."

Her lips thinned into a tight line, and she huffed out a breath through her nose. "Well, what are you going to do about it? Force them?"

"Fred and George wouldn't want the shop to close. You know that. And part of me thinks..."

"Yes?"

"It would break Mrs Weasley's heart to lose this too, even if she doesn't know it. We can't do that to her."

Hermione let out a slow sigh. In the background, he could hear the news, blasting something or other about the Labor Party, and Hermione's mum humming to herself like she always did when she was doing the ironing. She didn't have much of her memory back yet, but she'd nevertheless grown very close to her new British neighbour who invited her to tea twice weekly. 

"Yes, no, I know you're right. I do. What do you have to do to stop it?"

"I pay this month's mortgage."

She blinked at him. "Are you leaving something out or have your accounts suddenly been drained?"

"I also have to prove that the shop is still an economic asset to Diagon Alley — however the fuck I'm supposed to do that. They're going to send some Ministry hack to survey me while I try to pull a business plan out of my arse. And, Merlin. I'm going to have to hire people to think of product ideas. A whole new line of merchandise to launch if we actually want to improve sales."

"Well, I can't really help with the first bit," she said, "but maybe you could visit the office. You know they were always drafting ideas up there. I bet there are some you could still use. But pay the mortgage first, and then get the hack in there so they can see how proactive you're being." 

She paused, looking at him. "Are you really doing this for Mrs Weasley?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She shrugged, but it was clear there was something else. 

"Go ahead, out with it. What do you think's actually going on here. Therapise me."

Smiling ever so slightly, Hermione said, "I haven't seen you this... engaged with anything in a long time. I think maybe a project's good for you, and I think you probably know that too."

"I'm doing this for me, then?"

"I don't know. The shop was your investment. Maybe a part of you feels like you'll be really losing them if you let it go. And maybe you're tying up your feelings about the war in it all too. I have no idea what I'm saying, really. Don't take it too seriously. I haven't gotten to the Emotional Grievance Over Your Best Friend's Dead Brothers' Shop Foreclosure portion of my studies yet."

He gave her a tired smile. She was going to make a wonderful Mind Healer, that much he was sure of. He was glad she'd found somewhere to study further and that she was happy, but he missed her terribly. 

"I should probably go now. Lots to do."

"Alright, Harry." She bit her lip, looking down at something he couldn't see, then back up at him. "They're both doing okay, yeah? I just, I feel so guilty being away." 

"They're okay, Mione. I promise." 

And eventually that wouldn't be a lie, just as long as he could figure out how to save the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry stood in the Ministry lift feeling tempted to spell his eyes open. The previous night had been hard, leaving him with just three hours of sleep and the horrifyingly realistic image of Sirius getting a dementor's kiss seared into his brain. 

He was supposed to meet with the Ministry's hack here at half eight. The owl he'd received had instructed him to arrive fifteen minutes early, go down to Level 9, take the stairs to Level 10, and head towards the third courtroom. When he got to his stop, Harry was the only one left on the lift. Everyone else had gotten off a few floors earlier, leaving him to brave the way alone. 

It still gave him chills, being here. The Hall of Prophecy was just a few turns away, but he forced himself not to think about it. 

When Harry got to Courtroom Three, he paused at the sight of a familiar face. Blaise Zabini. What in Merlin's name was he doing here? 

Zabini spotted him and clicked closed what looked to be a muggle cellphone, stuffing it into the pocket of his robes. He then smiled in his wide, disarming way, teeth gleamingly white, while straightening up his spine. He was certainly handsome—more so even than he'd been at Hogwarts, with his cool brown skin and high cheekbones causing a stark contrast to his azure attire—and Harry felt himself flush involuntarily. 

Now was not the time nor the place. 

"Well, if it isn't the Golden Boy."

"In the flesh." 

Zabini stuck out a hand and, after a moment's hesitation, Harry shook it. He didn't hold much against Zabini, after all. Despite being one of Malfoy's cronies, he'd never done anything all that bad to Harry and his friends, even if he was an arse.

"You're the inspector?" Harry asked. It seemed like a very fitting job. If there was one thing people would remember about Zabini, it was how much he loved judging people. 

Zabini barked a short laugh, eyes shining. "Hardly. I'm your solicitor." 

"Er... what do I need that for, exactly?" 

"It's a muggle term, you haven't heard it?" Zabini did not look impressed. "I thought you grew up with muggles." 

"I know what a solicitor is; I'm asking why I need one. The letter didn't mention this." 

Zabini sighed once, letting out a puff of air. "I'll be presenting your case. I thought that would be fairly obvious, my apologies."

Harry took it all back. Zabini wasn't that attractive, even if when he turned around to open the chamber door, Harry could admit to taking a peek at his arse. 

The inside of the courtroom was mostly empty, but it looked only moderately less intimidating than the one he'd been in before fifth year. It had the same low benches and black stone as that one, with identical torches lighting the faces of the witches and wizards who were present. 

Across the room, he thought he saw a glimpse of white-blond hair that he recognised, but as soon as he looked, it was gone. 

A little old woman was sitting at the head of the room, and she tapped her gavel just thrice, waiting in silence for everyone to look at her. 

The creak of her voice carried across the room effortlessly, though he hadn't seen her use a sonorus. "This is a hearing to determine if Harry J. Potter—financier of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and henceforth referred to as the debtor—will be allowed an attempt at salvaging the reputation of said business after and as soon as the appropriate sum of 150 Galleons has been paid to the order of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Mr Potter, your statement, if you will."

"Er..." 

Zabini stepped forward elegantly, commanding the room's attention. "My client was the original financier of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and, as such, he maintains the authority to make any and all legal choices concerning its foreclosure under the 1896 Wizards for Welfare Act. It is the nature of such a business that, in the event of both former co-owners are no longer being alive, a decline of patronage, profit, and reputation is expected. Mr Potter cannot be held at fault for this eventuality, nor should he be prohibited from exercising his right to reestablish a plan for growth. Business turnover from one owner to the next is never without its trials. That is all, Your Worship, thank you."

The little old lady nodded and read over a piece of parchment that was sitting in front of her. "This all seems fairly straightforward. Has the debt been settled?"

Harry realised she was asking him, and he leaned forward, head spinning from how fast this all seemed. "Yes, Your Worship." 

She nodded again and cleared her throat, voice coming out even more gargled when she spoke again. "Your inspector will report back to the Council on the date of December 31st, 1999 regarding your success. Due to the nature of your fame, the prominent location of your business, and the necessary preclusion of a biased assessment, the inspector whom the Ministry deems most impartial will be assigned to your case."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. 

"Has the Ministry selected a candidate?" she asked. 

A woman in a sharp, pressed suit stepped forward from a bench, twirling her wand in a small circle under her chin to speak. "Yes, Your Worship. The Ministry has selected Draco Malfoy as the inspector."

Harry choked on his tongue, and Zabini looked vaguely amused by this. 

"The debtor may petition for a replacement if and only if the following instances occur—"

Harry perked up at that, listening closely. 

"life-threatening circumstances for which Mr Malfoy is the direct cause; substantial and well-documented proof of assessment bias; or Mr Malfoy's untimely demise, upon which his immortal soul does not remain as a magical portrait, contactable spirit, ghost, or ghost-like being."

He deflated, glaring at the back of the woman's head. 

Perfect, just perfect. There was no way Malfoy wouldn't try to sabotage the shop somehow, but Harry had to find a way to prove it. 

He was sure that more was said, but Harry was so wrapped up in his internal thoughts that the next time he looked up, Malfoy was standing directly in front of him and Zabini, and the room was nearly empty, court session over.

Malfoy had grown into his features since Harry had last seen him, not looking nearly so pointy and now missing the dark bags he'd had under his eyes since the beginning of sixth year. His hair wasn't slicked back like it used to be, either, instead falling partially into his eyes until he brushed it away with a hand. 

Everything else was much the same, and yet Harry took a moment to get his brain to work, too busy staring at the sharp angles of Malfoy's pressed muggle suit and the way he was staring right back.

"Potter," he drawled. "I can't say I'm surprised to see you, but this certainly is an unusual circumstance we've worked ourselves into." He nodded at Zabini. "Blaise. Effective as always." 

"It wounds me that you would expect anything less." 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, sniffing disdainfully. "Alright then, chop-chop. I need to do my preliminary viewing of the shop so I can make an initial assessment." 

He turned without saying anything else and Harry stared blankly after him before Zabini patted his shoulder and pushed him forward. 

"Careful, Potter!" Zabini called when he had almost caught up with him. "That one's a man-eater." 

Malfoy didn't say a word, but he flipped Zabini the two-fingered salute and pushed open the courtroom door, waiting for Harry to walk through before he shot two whispered spells over his shoulder.

Zabini's cackling abruptly stopped, and Harry could hear him gasping as the door swung shut. 

"Oh, you bastard!" came out muffled through it, followed by a lot more cursing. 

"What'd you hit him with?" Harry asked. 

"Just a mild Itching Jinx and the Stickfast Hex. Not to worry, Zabini's gotten particularly good at getting unstuck over the years." 

The door to the courtroom slammed open, and Zabini was storming down the hall. 

"Ah, that's our cue," Malfoy said, and then he grabbed Harry's arm and everything went black—the familiar pressing sensation of side-along apparition closing in on him from every side, his ears popping sharply, and his eyes threatening to fall out of his head—before they landed at the corner of Diagon Alley, right outside the building that used to be Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. 

"Nice day," Malfoy commented dryly, while Harry attempted to catch his breath. He was right. It was sunny, but the air still felt cool against Harry's skin—the type of weather that Mrs Weasley was always complaining London didn't get enough of. 

They started walking, the air tenser than he knew what to do with, though thankfully it didn't take long for Malfoy to break the silence. 

Merlin, this whole thing was so bizarre. Harry couldn't believe he was actually thankful for something Malfoy was doing, minor though it was. 

"So your... shop is struggling for business?" 

Harry nodded. 

"Can't you just owl Skeeter and ask for a press release? I'm sure it'd be packed in days."

Harry gritted his teeth, annoyed at the expression on Malfoy's face which clearly indicated that he thought Harry was lacking in all forms of intelligence. 

"It's not so much getting people there that's the problem as it is having anything to sell. With both Fred and George gone now, we're at a shortage of ideas."

"Ah, that's," Malfoy coughed awkwardly, "well that's quite unfortunate."

Harry scowled for a moment, content to walk in silence until he remembered something the woman in the suit had said. "What makes you the most impartial?" he asked. 

"Pardon?" 

"That's what that one woman said when she discussed why the Ministry had chosen you. The least biased, actually, was her wording. Considering our history..." 

"It came as a surprise?" 

He scoffed—that was the understatement of the century. 

"Yes, I suppose it has to do more with the other employees than it does with me. And my bloody arsewipe of a boss."

"Sorry?" Harry sputtered, choking on a laugh. 

"Well, the other employees are all typical Potter Fanatics, the really obnoxious kind who worship the ground you walk on. I'm pretty sure my cubicle-mate has a poster of you hung over his bed." 

"Agh." 

"Exactly. And he's not even the worst. There's this one girl who says she's written you a new poem every day since she was 15–she's graduated Hogwarts now—and she's still waiting to hear back."

Harry wondered if there was some charm in place that stopped him from receiving those letters, and he felt vaguely grateful for whoever had put it in place. Hermione, probably. "And your boss?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "He has it out for me. Perhaps for you, too. Or maybe he just likes to see people suffer, there's really no way to be certain."

"And I gather I can't just ask for a replacement." 

Malfoy tapped the tip of his nose and pointed at Harry. "Got it in one." 

"So I guess you'll have to quit, then." 

Malfoy stopped walking, though they were still a bit away from Wheezes' front door. 

"You don't want that," Malfoy said, voice low. 

"Pretty sure I do." 

The street was mostly empty this time of day, but one young child and his mother stared as they walked past, making Harry feel exposed. 

"There are no other employees who were deemed impartial enough." 

"Hmm, let's see," said Harry. "I could either have you, the man who hates my guts and is probably going to give me a bad review regardless of how well the shop does, or I could have a fan. Now, I'm not usually one to take advantage of fame, but that seems like a pretty easy choice." 

"Lucky for the both of us, you don't have the privilege of choice."

"Will you get fired if you drop my case?" 

Malfoy's lips thinned into a flat line and the heat of his glare could be felt even across the distance between them. "No, it's not likely." 

"Then I guess you're the one with the choice, aren't you?" 

And with that, Harry approached the door of Wheezes and stepped inside, bell tinkling behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Inside Wheezes, Verity was arranging some dung bombs on a shelf. She smiled as they walked in, and Harry cast a quick Tempus.

Perfect, still before ten. The shop didn't open until noon on weekdays, but Harry had asked her to come in a little early so she'd be there to show them around. In all honesty, he hadn't visited in months, so he wasn't sure where most things were or how to answer any questions Malfoy might come up with. 

Verity eyed Malfoy appraisingly and then looked from him to Harry and back. 

"You must be the hack," she said, sticking out a hand for him to shake. 

Malfoy frowned. "Excuse me?" 

"From the Ministry? Here to inspect the shop?" 

"I... yes, that's.... me." 

Verity grinned, pumping his hand up and down, looking faintly ridiculous at her short, plump stature in comparison to Malfoy, considering how forceful she could be.

Harry'd warned her to be on her best behaviour, but he figured this might be as close to that as she could get. 

"Well, it's great to meet you Mr...?" 

"Malfoy," he said. While his voice was confident, Harry noticed the way his eyes flicked around the room before he said it, like he was checking to make sure no one else was in there. "But you may call me Draco." 

Verity didn't make any indication that she recognised him, though it was impossible that she wouldn't have, and he seemed to relax infinitesimally. 

"Well, I'm Verity, and I've been working at the shop since Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley first started it."

"I see. And you manage it now?" 

She shrugged. "Not formally, but yeah."

They stood in horribly polite silence for only a moment before Harry decided he couldn't stand it and asked Verity if she would show them to Fred and George's office.

Her smile grew strained, and she looked over her shoulder. "You're sure you want to see it? You wouldn't rather show Mr— sorry, Draco, around the main store?" 

"Er... no?"

"It's really the office you want to see, not—"

"Yes, Verity. Is there a problem?"

There were a few tense seconds where she just looked back and forth between him and Malfoy, and then she stepped away from the shelves, leading them towards the grand staircase. 

Harry's stomach was in knots. What was in the office that she didn't want them to see? 

Clearly, there was something but there was no way Malfoy hadn't noticed Verity's hesitance and he was bound to suspect something if Harry said he no longer wanted to go up there. 

Had the employees done something to it? Maybe they'd converted it into a lounge, or a staff kitchen, or a sex dungeon. 

As they walked towards the stairs, they were led past countless empty display cases, and Malfoy's eyebrows rose higher at each one. 

They finally climbed the steps and walked a bit along the balcony until they came to a set of bright orange panels and a blue door reading, 'Messrs. Fred and George Weasley. Incredibly Impressive Upper Management.'

"Well," said Verity, "I don't suppose you've seen it before."

It wasn't said like a question, but Harry answered anyway.

"No, never. I was always more of a customer than anything."

"Right. Ahem." She tapped her wand on the lock, muttering something that made the door spring open. 

When Harry stepped forward to peer into the darkness, she grabbed his arm to hold him back and cast a hesitant Lumos. 

Orange. Orange everywhere. The desks, the walls, the floors, the ceiling... not a single thing free of the explosively bright colour. It was like he'd never seen orange before that moment, and he'd spent a lot of time in Ron's bedroom during the summers between Hogwart's visits. 

Looking back at the panels lining the outside wall, he realised that they had once been windows. Even Chudley Cannons would have dismissed this as tasteless. 

As Harry was about to trying stepping inside again, Malfoy snatched him back by his jumper. 

"Are you having a laugh?" he demanded. "Potter, you have absolutely no idea what that substance is. Walking in could cause immediate and potentially fatal consequences."

Harry looked to Verity for confirmation, and she nodded. 

"That's why it's still such a mess," she said. "Sorry. We left it at first thinking that Mr Weasley—George—would take care of it himself, but... well, he never did."

"So it's not just their eccentric interior decorating skills?" 

"Afraid not." 

Harry sighed. "How long has it been there?"

"Since sometime around July of last year."

Malfoy looked positively horrified. 

"Usually when something like this happened, they'd clean it all up by the next day. It was his first time back since... you know... and he spent the entire morning in there alone. Around noon there was this huge boom and we all rushed up the stairs to find him storming out and slamming the door behind him, work-suit completely covered with the stuff."

"And you've no idea what caused it?" Malfoy asked. 

"I figured that whatever product he was testing malfunctioned somehow, based on the reaction. Knowing Mr Weasley, though, an entirely orange room could have been the goal."

"Fuck," Harry said, not even sure what emotions he was feeling. 

"I'm sorry, I know I should've mentioned it sooner, and—"

"It's not your fault, Verity. But fuck," he said again. 

"Quite," Malfoy murmured. Then he shook himself, looking away from the room and to Harry. 

"I could run a few diagnostic charms if you like," he offered. "It looks like a spin on the Midas jinx, but I hope for your sake I'm wrong."

Harry blew air out of his mouth slowly, waiting for his brain to resume making concrete thoughts.

"Why is that?" 

"Well, if my initial impression is correct, then that means anything you might want in here is gone now. Completely solid..." Malfoy frowned, looking at the room... "orange."

Harry swore internally. 

No. This could not be the end of Wheezes... But there was no way he'd be able to come up with his own ideas. 

It explained why George had left, too. The perfect ending to his career, Harry supposed. Everything exploding, and all of the ideas he and Fred had spent their lives cultivating suddenly gone forever.

Malfoy spent the next half hour waving his wand around, making annoying faces, and sighing. Every time he did so, Harry grew more on edge.

Finally, when Malfoy took a step back and muttered, "No, that can't be right," Harry snapped. 

"What?! What is it?" he said. 

"Well there's good news and there's bad news." 

"Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to beg?" 

Malfoy examined him for a long moment, his eyes slowly tracing the lines of Harry's face before he shook his head and sighed. 

"The good news is, it's more modified than I originally thought. Everything in there has a solid surface layer of orange, which is transmissible by any and all touch," he emphasised this with a stern look directed at Harry, "but it's removable. With ample charm work and preparation, there should be a minimal loss."

"Brilliant!"

"The bad news?" asked Verity, reminding him that there was, in fact, some bad news. 

"It'll take hours. At least forty, likely more, if you want to do it safely. And you should." Again, he pointed this at Harry, who was honestly quite offended. Of course he would be safe! He might've been sorted into Gryffindor, but that didn't mean he was completely reckless. 

"Alright. Well, just tell me the spells and I'll get started. I bet we can tackle this within the week, and then we can get started on—why are you looking at me like that?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Are you really so completely and utterly—" he cut himself off, and Harry guessed he should consider himself lucky for that. 

"Unaware," Malfoy continued carefully, clearly considering his career as he spoke, "as to not think to hire a professional? Sure, it's costly, but you don't even know the charms for this kind of thing! And not to mention the modifications to the jinx. You could trigger a repeat explosion! Do you honestly think you can perform the spells with enough accuracy to clean the entire room?"

"I don't need to clean the entire room," Harry said. "Just enough to find some of their old product ideas. Will you tell me the incantation or not?" 

Malfoy looked like he was holding back an entire barrage of insults, which was actually quite entertaining, as much as Harry was starting to feel the same way. His ears had gone all red at the top and he was working his jaw back and forth as he breathed out heavily through his nose. 

"I don't know." 

"You don't know?" 

"No, Potter, seeing as this exact spell has never been done before, I'm not actually trained in the art of breaking it." 

"But surely you've got some ideas." 

Verity had a small smile curving her lips when Harry looked at her, but she quickly hid it. 

"Whether I have them or not is irrelevant; you need a professional." 

"I'll call Hermione and see what she has to say."

"A professional, Potter! Does that word mean nothing to you?"

"Well considering that you're supposed to be a Ministry professional—"

"Oh!" Malfoy shouted, and Harry felt his rushing surge of relief that his careful politeness had finally evaporated. "Well if you don't like what I've been doing, maybe I should change it up a bit!" 

He stormed past Harry back the way they'd come, pointing at empty display cases on the top floor. "Bad for business, tacky, loss of revenue, useless!" 

Malfoy took to the stairs, and Harry and Verity chased after him. 

"It's now 10:15 am," he said, looking at his watch as he walked, turning back around to scream at them, "which means you're spending valuable business time with the shop still closed!" 

Harry was about to respond saying that obviously, them being closed was Malfoy's own fault, when suddenly Malfoy began pointing one of his obnoxiously elegant looking fingers at the products downstairs.

"Look at that packaging—it's all ripped. And the charms keeping your damn Sticky Trainers sign spinning have worn out ages ago! Do you like it when I'm being a professional, Potter? Because it's in my professional opinion that you should shut down this shop tomorrow if not sooner."

He stood there for a moment, breathing harshly while Harry and Verity stared at him before he schooled his face into a grotesque mimic of the businesslike expression he'd had when they first saw each other that morning. 

"If you want to save this shop—and I do not doubt that somewhere in your... heart..." he said that like he's originally intended on a few other choice words, "you really think that's the best plan—then you'd do well to listen to my advice. I've saved twenty-five businesses this year and shut down another thirty. I know what I'm talking about. Clean up the orange gunk, open the doors on time, and for Merlin's sake, get some new products in here. Anything you have left now," he gestured to the shelves full of dented boxes of Everlasting Eyelashes and Nose Biting Teacups. 

It was strange looking at it through someone else's eyes. The shop wasn't like it had been when Fred and George had run it, it looked dead. The labels everywhere were peeling, the paint on the walls was chipped... even the signs out front had been out-of-date, advertising products they no longer knew how to manufacture. 

"are the rejects," Malfoy finished. And he was right. 

They were the rejects, and so was Harry. 

Not an original owner, not the only person currently competent enough to manage the store, but just what it was left with. 

Malfoy exited the shop and Verity and Harry stood staring out the front window at the street until he was long gone from sight. 

Then she flicked on the open sign, and it flashed a dazzling green and purple pattern twice before the bulbs finally fizzled out.


End file.
